Everyone at school knew Jungwon. With his easy smile, kind heart, and that signature dimple, he had the kind of presence that made people feel drawn to him — like gravity, quiet but undeniable. Girls liked him. A lot. He had fan pages before exams and confessions tucked into his locker, but Jungwon never really paid attention to any of that.

Because somehow, no matter how crowded the room was, he always found his way back to you.

You’d been best friends since childhood — the kind where he knew your go-to snack without asking and could read your silence better than your words. He was always around, like background music to your life, except louder when needed and quieter when not.

Jungwon had this habit of randomly showing up at your house — no warning, no text, just his head poking through your window or your mom casually announcing, “Jungwon’s here,” like he was a second child.

“Why do you even knock anymore?” you’d tease, and he’d just flash that dimpled grin, already halfway through your snack drawer.

“Why would I? Your mom likes me more than you,” he’d say, dodging the pillow you threw at him — with too much experience, you’d note.

And he always listened. Like really listened. He remembered when your teacher made you cry last week. He noticed when you went quiet after hearing someone mention your old friends. He checked in — always — with a gentle, “You okay?” and wouldn’t drop it until you were honest.

Sometimes, you wondered how he stayed so grounded. How he never got distracted by all the attention or compliments he got every day. But then he’d look at you, really look at you, and ask, “Wanna come to the bookstore with me later?” like you were the only person that mattered in that moment — and maybe, just maybe, you were.

————

It was a Thursday evening — one of those nights where the sky outside had turned a deep navy blue and the soft hum of the city filtered through your slightly open window. Your desk was cluttered with textbooks, highlighters, snack wrappers, and two half-finished cups of instant ramen.

Jungwon sat across from you, legs crossed on your bed, flipping through his notes with that little crease between his brows that always showed up when he was focused. You were at your desk, head resting on your arm, eyes struggling to stay open as your vision blurred over the same sentence for the tenth time.

“You okay?” Jungwon asked without looking up.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, though your voice was soft, a little too slow.

He glanced up at you — and when he saw the way your pen was frozen mid-word, your head resting a little heavier than before, he smiled to himself.

He didn’t say anything. Just quietly set his notebook down and stood up.

You had fallen asleep.

Head tilted to the side, lips parted slightly, breath slow and even. Jungwon just stood there for a second, watching you. Not in a weird way — just in the kind of way someone does when they genuinely care. When they’ve seen all your versions — the loud, the tired, the strong, the soft — and love each one equally.

He moved slowly, careful not to wake you.

First, he gently took the pen from your hand. Then he reached over and grabbed his hoodie — the one you always said smelled like him, like detergent and warmth — and draped it over your shoulders.

You stirred a little, instinctively leaning into the fabric like it was familiar.

Jungwon chuckled under his breath.

He dimmed your desk lamp, then sat back down on your bed, pulling out his phone and opening your chat like it was muscle memory.

[wonie♡]: you fell asleep loser

[wonie♡]: but you looked kinda peaceful so i’ll let you off this time

[wonie♡]: also if u drool on my notes i’m suing

Then he glanced back at you again, his expression soft.

He didn’t need the spotlight or the attention. Not from anyone. Because this — sitting in your room, in silence, keeping you company as you slept — this meant more to him than any popularity ever could.